Routine Maintenance
by Flashpoint.of.Fun
Summary: In which Lance had a prosthetic long before Shiro and no one told the black paladin such things require work. Or, they're in this together, and a little dirt can definitely hurt. -A one-shot AU that takes place during the first season.


**A little AU I have had in the works for a while, I finally made it happen. Anyway, I do not own Voltron and/or its characters, I hope you enjoy!**

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Lance held a tiny screwdriver between his teeth as he gently wedged a pry bar into the split between his metallic kneecap and the lower half of his joint. The armored top piece popped with a click and Lance winced at the sand that spilled from the freshly exposed hinge that made up the upper half of his prosthetic. He knew as soon as they had stepped foot on the arid desert planet that his leg was going to need maintenance, but he had brushed aside the increasingly needed cleaning as he and the paladins ran into a handful of Galra. He had resolutely ignored the grinding of sand on metal in his right leg and prayed that it didn't do too much damage. Now that he was looking at it, it was apparent that one of the bolt's threads was stripped and he gave a long sigh. He hated replacing the Earth parts of his leg with Altean bits. They never seemed to line up perfectly. He did a sad sort of hop towards the drawer he kept spare parts in, and rifled around inside until he found a shiny bolt. He mad his way back to his desk before taking the screwdriver from his teeth and beginning to work on the pesky bolt.

It had taken Lance time to learn how to manage his prosthetic. He had gotten it at the Garrison, in an accident that had no business occurring. One of the simulators had activated while Lance was getting ready to board, and as it did a spin his foot had gotten caught, dragging him underneath. The following crunch wasn't something Lance wanted to remember. In an effort to save face, the Garrison had equipped him with a state of the art prosthetic and bumped him up into the fighter class's vacant spot. The one that Keith's expulsion had created. In the months that followed Lance had had to learn enough engineering to be able to run a proper maintenance on his leg while simultaneously practicing to be a better pilot and working to get used to the pulsing pain in his thigh that now came with pressure changes. Some maths came easy to Lance, but the ones that ran his leg did not fall into that category. It had taken multiple months, trial and error, and a bucket of parts until he learned to fine tune the piece of metal that now served as part of his body. When Pidge had come into the game as engineer she had gushed over his leg, pointing out ways to improve it, but Lance had politely declined. He had just learned how to work this leg, he didn't want to switch up the program.

The others also knew Lance had a prosthetic, but it wasn't ever made into a big deal. He ran his maintenance and replaced faulty parts in the privacy of his room and the leg worked as if it was flesh and bone. Sometimes he winced when they were on a new planet, the intersection between metal and flesh screaming in pain, but he managed. He figured if Shiro could do it, so could he, and he forged on.

It wasn't until the day after he had gotten the sand out of his leg that he realized that Shiro might not have any more idea as how to manage a prosthetic than Lance did in the first month he got his. It occurred to him that although Shiro's tech was more advanced, it could still get damaged, and since the druids were no longer playing around with his arm, it was reasonable to assume it hadn't been cleaned up and repaired since Shiro escaped a few months ago. How did Lance come to this brilliant conclusion? He had walked by the training room at just the right moment and felt his heart drop into his shoes as Shiro tried to make his glowy-purple alien hand slash at the droid only to find it lock up in a position that was not meant for defense with a metallic screech. Lance had quickly whipped out his bayard and fired at the drone, popping its head off.

Lance had rushed to Shiro's side, the shaken look on the man's face prompted Lance to attempt a joke, his voice squeaky and adrenaline filled as he said "Hey, looks like I lended you a much needed hand?" His voice turned up on the end, making the already bad joke fall flatter. However, Shiro did seem to shake the betrayed look he was leveling at his hand, which was locked a right angle that made him look like he was trying to activate a hand canon. Lance was hesitant, but he asked "Can I take a look?" before receiving a nod of affirmative and leading Shiro to his room.

Lance trod into his room and reached into his desk with an assured motion. He grabbed his tiny pry bar, a screwdriver, and, after a moment of hesitation, a little Altean fastener that reminded him a bit of a hex key. At this point Shiro was standing awkwardly by the door, his hands folded across his chest with his shoulders folded inward. Lance stood there for a minute, his hands clutching his tools.

"Um, Shiro, can you sit down in the chair, I need the light from the lamp", he murmured, gesturing at the glowing cube that sat on his desk. Shiro shook himself.

"Yeah, I can do that". The chair gave a little groan as Shiro sat on the edge, laying his arm on the desk. Lance walked over, pulling the stool he normally kept in the bathroom to a spot right next to Shiro. The silence wasn't as strained as before and Lance leaned over the silver arm. He bit his lip and looked up, meeting Shiro's eyes. They held nothing but trust and Lance got closer to the arm. The broad armoured piece on the top seemed likely for hiding the problem with the hinge in the wrist, but Lance couldn't see any fasteners. Making the assumption that the piece may snap into place like his knee, he began to slide his pry bar around the crack, looking for an opening. When he reached the point where his elbow intersected with the piece, he felt the metal give, and with a hiss like escaped steam, it released. As he moved the part, he couldn't help but wince as sand and dirt spilled out from the inside. Shiro let out a tiny gasp and Lance one again lifted his gaze.

"I, uh, I didn't know anything could get inside it. I didn't even know it opened." Lance set down the pry bar and blinked, once, twice.

"Shiro, no one taught you how to deal with this," he gestured at the silver metal that made up the older man's arm and his face flushing, "It's not on you. You can't expect - no one told you - I'm sorry - If anything, I should have realized you didn't know. I had garrison doctors breathing down my neck for months before I was left to manage this thing alone." They both sent a look towards his leg, as if they could make out the metal beneath the armour. When their eyes flicked back together Shiro could make out the guilt in Lance's eyes.

"You couldn't have known my arm worked the same way as your leg. It's not your fault." Lance felt the edge of his lip curl down, his grip on the screwdriver tightening. Hesitantly he leaned back over Shiro's arm as the man brought it closer to him.

"I guess," he muttered, putting his screwdriver back down and opting for the Altean fastener. The arm was surprisingly similar to his leg on the inside - except for the Galra made bolts and wires and hinges that gave off a weird glow. He went silent as he inspected the mechanisms, looking for a clogged joint or stripped bolt. He found a likely suspect, a hinge that had sand inside and carefully loosened its bolts until the sand slipped out. "So," he smiled cautiously, "It's not bad… I think," he paused as the hand fell out of its ninety degree angle, "It just needed to get cleaned out." He sighed softly, refastening the bolt and fixing Shiro with a relieved smile, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. "I don't think any parts need replacing, but we definitely need to get the rest of the sand out of the wiring." Shiro nodded, Lance continued to examine his arm a with little bit of bashfulness in his gaze.

"Hey, Lance," He paused as the aforementioned boy pulled a little tube-like device out from a desk drawer and flipped it on. It was a vacuum, and Lance made a little hum in response to his voice as he began to remove the sand from all the metal bits in his arm. "I just want to say thank you." Lance turned off the vacuum and flashed a soft smile.

"No problem Shiro, I know all the tricks with metal limbs," and though his voice was a little bit cocky Shiro could see it in his eyes, the silent, _I have experience and am more than willing to help you anytime this piece of your body fails you. Anytime._

"I know Lance, you're amazing." And if Lance's cheeks turned red at the praise, Shiro pretended not to notice as the boy continued removing grime from his arm before moving his attention past the wrist joint and to all the little moving parts of his fingers.

"It's nothing, just a little routine maintenance. We'll have to do it every mission," Shiro smiled at him. _After all, we are in this together._


End file.
